


Look at Me

by stolen_relic (C6H12O6)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-13
Updated: 2008-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C6H12O6/pseuds/stolen_relic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sothe wishes that Ike would look at him the way he looks at that wind mage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look at Me

Sothe stared at Ike.

Ike, look at me. Ike. Ike.

Ike's eyes were fixed above Sothe, his attention entirely focused on something behind the young, green-haired rouge.  In addition to the complete captivation evident on Ike's face, a strange, soft warmth was present in the Commander's ocean blue eyes. 

It was a unique expression, but one Sothe had seen on the Commander's face several times before.

Sothe turned to look in the direction of Ike's stare, and, sure enough, his eyes fell upon the wind mage, Soren.

Irritation flared within Sothe.  Soren was always claiming Ike's attention, both in and out of battle.  Sothe fought the desire to say something to call Ike's attention away from the wind mage.  He bit the edge of his tongue to keep it still, and kept watching Soren, trying to ascertain what it was about the lithe, dark-haired man that enraptured the Commander so thoroughly.

Graceful as a cat, Soren darted towards an axeman, and, with smooth, elegant motions of his hands, Soren brought forth cutting edges of wind to slice through his axe-weilding opponent.  Soren was swift and nimble; another spell was on fingertips as soon as he had cast the first, ready to spring forth to strike down another enemy.  Sothe turned away from the adept display of sorcery, and looked at his Commander, again.  

A smile was now stretched across Ike's face.

Sothe figeted impatiently.  

Finally, Ike turned to Sothe.

Sothe's heart skipped a beat as Ike's clear, blue eyes fell upon his face, and the young rogue straightened up instinctively, suddenly hyperaware of himself, as if Ike's gaze was a spotlight.  Nearby, Zihark's sword clashed against the blade of an axe, and the metal rang like a bell, the sound echoing off of the stone walls.

"Go, open up the chest, Sothe," Ike motioned for Sothe to move forward, "while the rest of us distract them.  Be quick!"

"Yes, Commander!" Sothe obediently dove into the fray, zigzagging past preoccupied axemen and swordsmen, knife in hand.  He was prepared to do anything for his Commander.  As the young thief ducked between his warring comrades, he kept his ears honed in on the sound of Ike's voice—a deep, true sound that called out orders to the other mercenaries—over the din of crashing metal blades and scuffling combat.  Sothe caught Tormod's name in a sentence with his own.  Once again, he had been paired up with that fire mage.  He grimaced.  Tormod, again?  Sothe sighed, and schooled his features back to their previous, determined expression.  Commander Ike knew what he was doing.  Sothe would care for Tormod if Ike felt it was necessary.

"Sothe, look out!"  Sothe slid to a halt as a swordsman raised his blade in front of the small rogue.  Fire exploded around the swordsman and Sothe raised a gauntleted arm to shield his face from the heat.  Tormod darted beside Sothe, his arms raised and ready to provide a second explosion of flame.

Sothe spared only a glance for Tormod's grinning face before barreling towards the chest again.

When he reached the heavy, wooden chest, Sothe dropped to his knees beside it, and sheathed his knife.  Delicately, he placed his hands on either side of the lock, testing its integrity.  He reached into his leather vest for the pocket that held his lock picks.  Another fiery explosion rocked the floor, and he fumbled, nearly dropping one of the thin, metal objects.  He leaned closer to the chest, trying to ignore the clanking of armor behind him.  Sothe pushed the sleek metal picks into the lock, an image of the lock's inner workings blooming in his mind as the picks slid into place.  As he deftly worked, he felt and listened for the tell-tale _click_ that would herald the opening of the lock, and his success.

Tormod stood beside Sothe and the chest, alert, and ready to attack anyone before they could interrupt the young rogue's intrepid thievery.

The lock gave under Sothe's practiced touch, and he gleefully flung the chest open.  Without wasting a moment to admire his clever work, and the prize it had yeilded, he grabbed the treasure inside—a Seraph Robe—and stuffed it into his pouch. 

Sothe rose to his feet, ready to tell Tormod they could begin their way back to the Commander, when a shout pierced through the air.  The shout had unmistakably belonged to Ike, and Sothe spun around, searching for his Commander in the crowd of warriors and mercenaries. 

"SOREN!"  An enemy mage was lifting his arms—in a similar fashion to the way Tormod had only minutes before—to cast a spell upon Ike's wind mage.

Save for an infentesimal tighening of his shoulders, Soren made no movement to either evade or defend himself from the imminent attack.  It was not possible to run fast enough to dodge the mage's spell, given the short distance they stood from one another, and the only weapon Soren presently possessed was the tome he carried, and, no matter how powerful the spells in the book might be, parchment and ink would provide little defense against fire.  Soren held his head high, standing stiff and regal, like a monarch.  His eyes were fixed on his opponent, irises, as always, red as blood fresh from an open wound, but as icy and steely as the wind on a mountain peak.

Ike surged forward, his long cape flowing behind him as he bounded between the enemy mage and his own.

"Commander!" Sothe cried, and started running for the Commander and the wind mage, even though he knew there was no possible way he could make it to them before the fire mage unleashed his spell.  Just before fire engulfed the two of them, Sothe saw a dramatic change in the wind mage's face.  The dispassionate expression that had completely masked the mage's fair countenance entirely vanished as his attention was drawn to the blue-haired man leaping towards him.  The iciness in his red, half-laguz eyes melted as they widened with shock, and his lips parted in surprise.

"Wait!" Tormod grabbed Sothe's arm, pulling him to a halt.

"Let me _go,_ Tormod!" Sothe yanked his arm in an attempt to dislodge himself from the fire mage's grip.

"Sothe, you're not strong enough; you'll get hurt!"  Tormod lifted his other arm to cling onto and still Sothe.

Sothe noticed a thin, shallow cut on Tormod's arm and he stilled.  When had Tormod been injured?  His eyes flicked up to Tormod's face.  Tormod's face and clothes were smudged with sweat and dirt, and his hands were leaving sooty smears on Sothe's arm. 

The fire mage took the momentary lapse in struggling as Sothe's resignation, which was a mistake.  As soon as Sothe felt Tormod's grip slacken, he took the chance to elbow the fire mage in the ribs.  With a grunt from Tormod, Sothe was released. 

Sothe streaked away, dodging past fighting mercenaries and warriors, desperate to get to his Commander, but was shortly stopped again, this time by less friendly means, as a javelin plunged in front of him, and barred his way to Ike.

The rogue tugged his kard from its sheath as his opponent yanked his javelin out of the moist ground.  He was a large, muscular man with a sinewy neck that looked like a knarled tree trunk.  Sothe bounced on his heels, leaning sideways to peer past his hulking foe to catch a glimpse of his commander.

"You idiot!" Sothe heard Soren hiss, as the wind mage pulled away from Ike.  Ike's charred cape fell away from Soren's shoulders, to once again hang behind his Commander, a little the worse for wear.  "Why did you do that..?!" Soren's face was smuged with ash, but the brunt of the fire had been absorbed by Ike and his tattered red cape.

Ike grinned in response to Soren's frown, "It's a good thing you're so skinny. I could wrap you right up."  His blue eyes were filled with soft, gentle warmth and happiness.

Sothe paid for his distraction.  Cold metal bit into his side, lighting a spire of pain that shot through him; yet, he could still not tear his eyes away from his Commander and the halfblood wind mage.

The wind mage's claret eyes widened again, this time in a scandalized manner, but before he could respond, the movement of his enemy caught his attention.  Soren thrust his hand outward, and lighting crashed down from above, striking the enemy fire mage before another attack could be cast upon either Ike or Soren.

Sothe did not miss a moment of the exchange, even as his kard finally brought down his opponent.  He pressed his hand over the wound in his side, gritting his teeth to stifle the pained whimper that threatened to escape his lips.  His eyes narrowed as he continued to gaze at the slender wind mage, who was now staring coldy at his Commander with a thoroughly unimpressed expression.  The rosy blush beneath the soot on the mage's cheeks betrayed his reproving glare.  Sothe's golden eyes shifted to Ike.  Ike smiled joyfully at Soren, words of gratitude and praise spilling from his mouth.

Soren brought up his hand to briefly touch Ike's arm.  The mage's light hand silenced Ike immediately, and there it was again!  As Ike stopped speaking: that look.  That special, tender gaze that was just for the wind mage.  Sothe felt a knot of agony well up in his chest that had nothing to do with the physical injuries he had sustained from battle. 

The wind mage motioned to the exit of the castle, to the other mercenaries, hard at work, and then, briefly, to Sothe.  Soren muttered something that sounded impatient, and Ike gave a sweeping look to all the mercenaries, not stopping on Sothe, and then gave Soren a nod.  Ike called out the order to his mercenaries disengage and follow him out, and then, pair plunged into battle once again, attacking in harmony and driving towards their escape.

Sothe did not speak.  He limped forward, clinging onto his kard with one hand and clutching his injured side with his other, his expression utterly blank.

The young rogue felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see the placid face of the swordsman Zihark. The soft, empathetic expression the swordsman wore made Sothe pull away with an angry glower.

"Sothe, you need a vulnerary," Zihark's calm voice eased the tension knotted in Sothe's chest, but the thief fought to keep his sullen expression firmly in place, and turned to look at the ground, instead of at Zihark's serene, understanding face.

"I don't need it," Sothe snapped, "Give it to Tormod. He was injured before I was."

"But I'm not bleeding anymore," Tormod's chipper voice made Sothe's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, effectively displacing his scowl with a look of bemusement.  The fire mage must have caught up with him during his short battle with the javelin-wielding brute.  Tormod was more agile than he had thought.  The fire mage held the vulnerary out for Sothe to take, "C'mon, take it and we'll get out of here."

"No," Sothe frowned, and instead grabbed Tormod's empty hand, "Let's go, now! We can't fall behind!"  The rogue turned and tugged Tormod in the direction Ike and Soren were leading.

Tormod looked down at the slighter hand fiercely gripping his, and his cheeks flushed underneath an uneven smear of soot, just as Soren's had, but Sothe did not notice. 

Sothe's golden eyes were occupied seeking out the fastest and safest routes through which they could slip through the mass of people to the exit. 

The startled fire mage was dragged a few steps before he quickened his pace to keep up with—rather than be pulled along by—Sothe, and a smile lit his face. 

Sothe sped up, keeping a firm grip on the fire mage's hand.  His side protested the increase in velocity, but he pushed the pain and thoughts of the vulnerary from his mind.  He could not heal himself while Tormod was injured.  If there was a vulnerary, it was Tormod's first.  Ike had given him charge of the fire mage, and it was his job to keep Tormod safe and well—to follow Ike's orders—no matter what!  He would make his Commander proud!  Once he did, Ike would notice his skills, and look at _him_ in that special way, too.


End file.
